The churning of the blades may be slightly softer; muffled as they are by the window panes. Still, after living between two bases for 5 years you know the difference between Medevac and a military copter. You know which one to fear when you’re the mother of a teen driver.
You know you’re fully deconverted when it’s 1:30 am, Husband is out of town and you’ve texted your daughter 3 times, waited a few painful minutes, then called her 4 simultaneous times and in between your 5th and 6th attempt you find yourself not praying, but getting dressed.
You know the violent swing from panic to rage when she does answer will eventually result in complete exhaustion. You are conscious of the decrescendo of the wing whirl and you appreciate the anonymous heroes battling to save the life of a victim that tonight will, thankfully, also remain anonymous.
You know from the ache of your bursting heart when she finally walks through the door that any story that tries to camouflage eternal damnation with unconditional love is absurd.
You know the intensity of this night will fade as the sun rises. You hope it will be many years before she fully understands this particular sort of panic. And you know, no matter what you do, adulthood continues its stealth approach…